Paper Cranes
by Blair.1907
Summary: AU. His brother is in a coma, and he's dating an American whose only purpose is to arouse jealousy in a certain British man. Yao Wang is in a complete mess-but in the midst of it all, finds refuge in a pair of violet eyes and broken mind. Rus/Chi & Am/Eng
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I don't own Hetalia, sadly, or else the show would be labeled as 'yaoi' and I would make GermanyxItaly an obvious couples (more obvious than it already is, anyway)**

**SOOOOOOOOOOOOO**

**This was created for a friend of mine, whose sister is in a coma. For privacy's sake I will not say her name, but this friend of mine is the sweetest creature to have ever walked the face of the earth. She folds paper cranes, one a day, for her sister, and when she visits, places them around the room. She once read a story somewhere that a girl died of cancer, and only got to 600 or something cranes. The dead girl's friends, however, completed the rest of the cranes and buried all of them with the girl at her grave. It goes to show, how the affection of a human can be so powerful and moving, and simply priceless. I wanted to write this story for her, and her sister. **

**Please feel free to review or leave constructive comments (IN FACT, I WANT REVIEWS PLEASE) **

**And I'll shut up now so you ca go ahead and enjoy the story. :)**

**Yours Truly,**

**-Sunny**

* * *

Chapter One

* * *

Yao Wang gently placed the white paper crane on the tabletop. He then pulled the blue folding chair that had been leaning against the wall open, sitting down on it and turning his body to face the portable bed. The intravenous tubes stuck in a grisly manner into the pale flesh of a young man, whose thin eyelids were closed in a peaceful surrender. Soft, dark hair contrasted stark against the crisp pillowcase of the hospital. The faint noise from the machine monitoring the heartbeat beeped steadily.

"Kiku, I brought you a crane again," Yao said. He paused, as if to hear a response. "It's the fiftieth one I've left for you. And you know what's really funny, is that I think I'm getting better at folding them each day." There was no laughter in his voice.

Kiku remained unmoving and silent upon the bed. The barely rising and fall of his chest was the only indication that he still had a pulse. Yao crossed his legs and tucked his hands underneath his knees.

"It would be nice if you would wake up soon, aru." he said. "You would be surprised at the amount of work accumulating on your part as we speak. But that's not it-what I meant was," Yao frowned. "It's awfully lonely without you at home. And I miss those salted mackerels you make-and the rice balls. And the sake. And the sashimi."

Yao did not know how long he sat on the chair. He talked and talked, his conversation drifting from one topic to another and having no sense of direction whatsoever, simply because there was no one to keep his thoughts on track. He did not even know if a single word had gotten into his comatose brother.

A knock sounded at the door. Yao trailed off in the middle of a sentence about a cat he had seen in the front yard, glancing warily towards the exit. A nurse pushed the door open, nodding towards Yao and leaning against the doorframe. "Visiting hours are over, Mr. Wang. You will have to come back tomorrow."

"Has it really been that long?" Yao asked. He spared the clock on the wall a peek, confirming his query. "Time flies."

"Yes." The nurse nodded. Her gaze on Yao wavered over to the bedside table. A soft smile broke onto her lips at the neat little arrangement of crisp, paper cranes, lined up side by side, along the edge of the wood. "Those are quite beautiful."

"They have a purpose." Yao replied.

"What do they do?"

"Legend has it that if you make a thousand paper cranes for one who has fallen ill, that a miracle will strike and make them well again."

"That's a lot of cranes," the nurse breathed. "How many are you at so far?"

"fifty."

"Keep going, then."

"I never intended to stop in the first place." Yao cast a wary glance at the man on the bed. "I supposed I really do have to leave now. I've been a burden enough to you and the staff."

Nurse Elizaveta sighed, smoothing the crease on her pink uniform. "No, no. You've been nothing of that sort. Please, Mr. Wang, take it easy. Your brother's state of health has improved, and will continue to do so as long as you keep yourself happy and fit."

Yao nodded, before rising from the chair and sliding his into his green jacket. With a quiet goodnight to his brother and a farewell to the nurse, he headed down the polished hospital corridor and started for home.

.

"Welcome back, Yao,"

"Hey."

Yao shrugged off his coat, hanging it orderly onto the clothing rack by the door. Next came his shoes, which were placed with care into the cabinet. He picked up a pair of running shoes sprawled across the doormat and sat them next to his own.

"Is everything okay?" Alfred Jones asked, looking up from his videogame. A straw was jammed inbetween his lips.

"Yes, everything is fine." the Chinese replied. "You had dinner?"

"Yup. I left you some in the oven, but I figured you wouldn't be hungry because you would have eaten already, ya know-but still. It's there. Just in case you want it."

"Thanks." Yao walked past the living room and into the hallway. The sounds of the game console echoed in the air.

Yao sighed. He stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind him. He stood in front of the mirror for a while, simply staring at himself. He did not recognize the man in the mirror, the man who looked so placid and nonchalant, with cold brown eyes and dark, sleek hair. Yao had expected a hideous, disarrayed monster to stare back at him, and not someone who looked well put-together. If there was one thing he was certain, it was that his seams were frayed in the inside. He tore the hair band from his ponytail, watching his raven locks tumbling down around his shoulders. His fingers nimbly undid the buttons of his silk shirt, dropping the flimsy garment to the cold tiles beneath. His pants soon joined the pile as well.

The water was scorching, pelting his back violently and burning trails down his spine. Yao squeezed his eyes against the assaulting water, reaching out blindly for the shampoo bottle-only to find that it was empty.

Damn that Alfred.

Sighing, Yao turned the nozzle off, rubbing his eyes free of water. He grabbed the clean towel hanging on the bar, and quickly wrapped it around his midsection. The frigid air greeted his skin as he stepped out of the washroom, peering cautiously around for any unwanted spectators. When Yao was sure that Alfred was nowhere near-and after having his suspicions cleared by the annoying gunshot sounds in the background-the boy crept to his room, where he shut the door quietly and began to dress. He grabbed a red night robe and bound it tightly around his thin torso. Not bothering to dry his damp hair, Yao slid into his slippers which consisted of hello-kitty heads and made his way down the hall.

"Alfred, can you turn down the volume? It's pretty late."

"Late? It's barely ten' o'clock, my dear friend!"

"Yeah. I'm sure our neighbours would want to sleep, considering it's a Sunday night and many people have work early in the next morning."

Alfred ignored the last comment, his wide eyes glued to the screen and fingers twitching with alarming speed over the controller. Yao watched indifferently as imaginary ghouls and disturbing animals fell back with bullets to their heads. He sighed, before settling down into the couch next to his American friend.

"Wanna play?" Alfred asked, his movements becoming vigorous. "Oh..oh… BOOM! HEADSHOT!"

"I don't like to play videogames." Yao clicked his tongue, crossing his arms over his chest.

"And why is that, my dear Yao Wang?"

"It's pointless, don't you think? You're wasting your time shooting at imaginary things-time which could be spent productively on improving your real life."

At this, the American set the controller down, the screen dimmed to a pause. Yawning, Alfred removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes before looking over to Yao. "You know, Yao, you have to learn to live a little, once in a while. You'll die young at the rate your moving at."

"Everyone dies one day," Yao huffed. "And before I do, I want to make sure I've spent my life doing something useful, rather than playing crass videogames."

The room was silent, the television screen blinking in wait to be resumed. Alfred's normally cheery eyes were cold and serious. Yao turned his head away from the penetrating gaze, his face growing hotter. "Yao, you know I don't ask for favours very often…"

Yao groaned. He quickly made a point to interject. "No, forget it. Whatever you're going to say now, just drop it. I'm not going to follow along with any of you pleas."

"I just want you to live a little, you know? It's not easy sleeping under the same roof as someone as, er…how should I say-uptight- as you."

"Thanks."

Yao continued to glare at the ultramarine curtains that shrouded the windows. The colour was enthusiastically unattractive, decked with brash golden stars; but then again, such was to be expected from someone as garish as Alfred. When Yao actually thought about it, he noted that most of the house was, in fact, furnished to Alfred's taste, and his alone.

"Seriously, Yao. Look at me." Alfred said, his voice lower than usual. Yao closed his eyes, knitting his eyebrows together before turning back to the blond. Alfred shifted closer to him on the couch, and he could do nothing but lean back against the armrest.

"I'm looking."

"I understand if you do not feel like playing videogames, or watching movies, or all that stuff," the American began. "So I was thinking, you know-if when you have a day off sometime this week, perhaps we should go out and do something exciting? Just one day, we can do something new that we've never done before and live a little! Please, Yao, you know I never ask for very many favours.."

"If I do, just this once, will you swear to never bug me again?"

"Of course!"

"Fine. But under one condition; not a word will ever leak out to anyone, and no skydiving, scuba diving, rock climbing, paintballing-"

Alfred laughed, flopping onto Yao's lap. The Chinese simply shifted uncomfortably under the extra weight. He didn't like being so close to Alfred, even in humorous situations. Yao was also aware of his friend's past and knew full out that the American had been with another man before-one by the name of Arthur Kirkland. Yao Wang prided himself to be straight, and did not intend to break the habit anytime soon.

"Yaoooo…."

"What?" he groaned.

"You look cute from down here."

Yao flinched before harshly pushing the man off his legs. "Don't even say something that vulgar. It's disgusting."

"Whoa, whoa, hold your horses," Alfred said, all former humour gone from his voice. "I was being frank, is all. I wasn't-"

"You know how uncomfortable I get when things like that happen."

"Yeah, I know."

Yao burst angrily. "Then why do you still do it?"

Alfred opened his mouth, and shut it again. He shook his head, a sudden look of aggravation flashing over his face. He moved back to his original spot, and picked up the controller from the carpet. The screen blinked back on. "Sorry."

Yao did not respond. He rose curtly from the couch and started towards his bedroom. His own tasteful, clean bedroom. A bedroom devoid of Alfred F Jones.

" 'Night Yao."

"Goodnight."

* * *

"Why can't you just understand?" Alfred asked, his voice trembling the slightest. He stared at the man before him, who countered back with sharp, green eyes.

"Well, I do! I know you're not bloody interested in me anymore, which is certainly why you want to take a little 'break' from it all. I should have known from the very beginning not to have wasted my breath on you!"

"It's just not working out right now, Arthur! You know it, too. We can't keep pretending nothing's happening. That's why we need time apart; we need to sort through our priorities."

"I don't give a rat's ass." Arthur hollered haughtily. "You do whatever the fuck you want."

The room fell silent. Alfred inhaled deeply, willing for his shaking body to stop. He closed his eyes to suppress the stinging tears gathering inside.

"You want to break up, then it's fine. I'm okay. I don't mind-in fact, I figured it would be like this the whole time. I've been prepared, you see." Arthur's voice broke the silence. It hurt like a thousand needles burying themselves into Alfred's chest.

Alfred could not, and did not, understand. Why were words so blatantly false rolling off the British's tongue? Alfred knew Arthur didn't mean a thing he said. Arthur had always been the type that would completely ignore something he deemed unimportant, and blow a fuse at the things he was impassioned about. For such lies to come spewing out like this, especially when he felt so forlorn-it was almost unbearable.

"Bloody American. That's what I get, I suppose. I really should have known better. I am older.."

Alfred raised his head, forcing his eyes open. He imagined they must have been bloodshot because Arthur seemed to flinch. Then, he opened his mouth, and offered words he wished he could have taken back. "You know, you're right. I'm a bloody wanker. You should have known better than to be with someone like me-and you were right about being prepared. I mean, that French guy, what was his name-Francis? You can always go crawling back to hi-"

When Alfred next blinked, he was lying on the floor after hearing a sickening crack. It was only after the pain pulsed through his temple, that he realized his head had collided against the wall. Arthur stood, panting and red in front of him. First there was the sheer fury in his green eyes, then shock, then realization. The british man whipped around and bolted straight through the front door. Alfred remained, curled on the carpet, his vision a blur.

"Don't-don't leave! Come back!" he rasped. "Please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

…

"Oi, wake up."

"I'm sorry.."

"Alfred, wake up!"

"Please, don't leave me… please…"

"Alfred Jones!"

Alfred's eyelids slowly cracked open. He squinted against the dim light of the room. His room. He blinked again, and a hazy figure above him gradually took a shape of a young man. A young man with sleek, long raven hair and warm brown eyes.

It was Yao.

He wasn't Arthur-but for now, he would do.

"Alfre-ahh!" Yao yelped as strong arms snaked around his torso and crushed him into a bear hug. No words were exchanged. It was just the silent room and the two men, locked in an embrace upon the bed. Yao wanted to yell, but instead, found his shaking hands settling into the sandy locks of the other's hair. It was as they said-silence was golden.

* * *

Kiku still had not awoken. Yao felt his eyelids dropping lower and lower, shooting open occasionally when they were too close to closing.

Things had become increasingly difficult. Yao worked full time at his law firm, challenged by complex court cases and unhappy newly-weds. He was finding it hard to juggle the long, gruelling hours of work, dealing with Alfred, and spending time each day to visit Kiku at the hospital. Especially when Kiku was not even aware of his presence at all.

"Kiku, look, the crane is yellow today." Yao said, holding his carefully constructed artwork out for his slumbering brother to see. "It's pretty, aru?" He placed it down by the rest of the cranes, where quite an array of colours had gathered. Yao smiled gently.

"I'm sorry Kiku, I've just been so exhausted lately." Yao leaned his head forward onto the stiff mattress. "You really should wake up soon and help me, aru. It's not very nice to leave things for me to do alone."

Somewhere outside, a siren wailed.

"I will continue to visit you everyday, just as I promised. You know I never break my promises, aru." Yao told Kiku. "Even if my visits last for a shorter time, I'll be sure to visit you. You have my word for that, my brother."

.

.

The night was cold and dark. Yao tugged his scarf tighter around his neck, watching as his breath rose in a mist towards the black sky. He lingered for a moment, at the front entrance of the hospital. He felt so extremely exhausted, and simply thinking of the long walk home made him even more tired. Yao leaned against the glass doors, tucking his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat.

He wanted to be back home. Back in the familiar, wooden house with the smell of dumplings and tempura wafting through the kitchen door. Back in the thoroughly air-conditioned bedroom, sitting with crossed legs upon the comfy futon bed with Kiku lying across from him.

He wanted-

"Excuse me?"

Startled, Yao jerked his head up, realizing that his eyes had been closed. He found himself staring directly into someone's broad chest, draped by a tan trench coat with the ends of a long, white scarf dangling down from a neck. Looking up, Yao gazed directly into a large face and violet-violet?-eyes.

"Ah-aru! I'm sorry." Yao stuttered, straightening his back. He barely reached the stranger's shoulder.

"Why are you apologizing?" the strange man cocked his head to the side, silver-blond wisps of hair falling into his face. "You didn't do anything wrong, da. If anything, it is my fault. I was just worried that you'd fall asleep outside here."

"Oh, well, thank you very much for waking me up." Yao replied. "I'm not even supposed to be here, you see."

"I'm glad you are not angry with me." The man replied. His words were laced with a thick accent, one foreign to the Yao. "But if you do not mind me asking-why are you out here so late?"

"Oh, I was just visiting someone at the hospital." Yao answered. The way he was gazed at so intently was slightly unnerving.

"Well, it's a good thing you aren't the one that's sick!" The man spoke, almost a bit too chipperly. Through his utter exhaustion, Yao felt a fresh wave of pent anger surge in his veins.

"No, it's NOT a good thing." Yao snapped vehemently. The tall man eyes grew wide, taken aback. "In fact, I would rather be the one sick, the one unconscious, the one on that damned hospital bed. Don't go around saying things like that when you have absolutely no damn clue!"

The stranger, who had a moment ago looked confused, suddenly darkened. With the last of his energy reserves spent, Yao took in a shaky breath and saw a cold, hard glimmer in the man's eyes. He felt a shiver of fear run up his spine.

"Please forgive me for my impudence." The man's voice was low and hoarse. "I've really upset you, haven't I?"

"No, I'm sorry. I snapped, I shouldn't have."

"No. It's my fault." The man inched closer, towering over Yao. "How can I make my amends to this?"

"No, don't worry, it's fin-"

"Tell me, da? I would really like to know. A firm answer would be great." The cold glimmer was there again, in those haunting violet eyes. Yao shivered again, this time visibly.

"It's okay! Please, don't, don't come so close, I-"

The stranger continued to advance on the younger man. Yao's back was pressed against the glass door, and he was certain that the thrumming of his heart could be heard aloud. Something was terribly off with this man, and Yao wanted-needed-to get away from him as soon as humanly possible.

"Yao!"

Both men's heads snapped to the direction of the voice. There, a couple of yards away, was Alfred. He was adorned in his usual bomber jacket, making his way towards the two. The American waved his hand at Yao. "I've been looking everywhere for you, where have you been! You're cellphone was off as well."

Yao had never been so relieved to see the American all his life. He quietly thanked whatever god that resided in the sky, as he edged his way towards his friend. "Hey, Alfred."

The blond seemed to sense the mood, speeding up and extending his arms out towards the Asian man. "Hey, it's okay, don't tire yourself, you look exhausted."

Yao did not hesitate to place himself as close to Alfred as possible. The American swept him into a secure embrace before letting go and looking at Yao. "Who was that man?"

Yao turned around, fearful. The stranger was no longer there. Shaking his head, he turned back to Alfred. "No one. Let's just go home."

Yao Wang would not admit it, but the disappearance of the man only left a wilder fear in his wake.

* * *

**Whoot! I'm having so much fun writing this right now. Anyways, I do not plan on shipping ChinaxAmerica, so for all you readers against this pairing, hath no fear. Soon, the story will fall into it's rightful pairings of AmericaxEngland, RussiaxChina, and even a bit of GermanyxItaly (because who can resist?)**

**Hope you've enjoyed what little I have to give. I do not use spellcheck whatsoever, so forgvie me!**

**REVIEWS ARGHHH I LOVE THEM, they are like cookies to me. If you do not want to deprive me of cookies, then please review! Tell me anything-what you like, what you don't like, what you want to happen in the story. I always take reviews very seriously, so you never know~**

**I hope you enjoyed reading this! Stay tuned for more!**


	2. Chapter 2

.**OKAY! I'm back!**

**So hope you all are having a merry spring brreak. I know I am :)**

**This story's pairing status will change from USUK to ROCHU, depending on the latest chapter and which couple it revolves around. This fic will be mainly ROCHU, but this chapter was sort of hitting up on the America/England side, so I decided to set it to USUK for now. Do not fear, dear readers-there will be plenty more Yao Wang and creepy Ivan Braginski to come in the next chapter to make up for their lack of screentime in this chapter ;)**

**This story was written before the Tsunami and earthquake that hit Japan. May God be with them and help them through ths hardships. Please lend a halping hand by donating money to charities that support them-we all need to work together to bring Japan back to its feet!**

**Anyways, on with the story. Thank you for taking the time to read this :) I do enjoy reviews, they make me feel as though my writing and time was appreciated, and encourage me to update faster. Remember, there are no wrongs that a review can do!**

**-Sunny**

* * *

Chapter 2

* * *

Though his mind was solely trained on the glowing television screen before him, Alfred's ears still could still detect the slight shuffling of pots and pans somewhere from the kitchen. He heard a soft, quirky little tune being hummed-in the right pitch-which served as an accompaniment to the sound of breakfast-in-the-making.

"Sunny side up right?" Yao asked, his voice muffled by the sound of a sizzling hot pan. Alfred replied jauntily while still managing to focus on the video game before him. The sizzling in the background continued, and seconds later Alfred smelt delicious, frying eggs. His stomach growled a response.

Alfred saved his session and turned off the console. He stretched and yawned, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes tiredly. They stung slightly from hours of usage. The American made his way towards the kitchen, where the smell of food enticed his senses. Yao was putting the frying pan in the sink, and cleaning up the countertop. He looked up and frowned at the blond.

"You really need to get a life, aru." Yao said as he sat down on his end of the table. "You look like one of the walking dead that you kill in those videogames of yours."

"Do I?" Alfred asked. He removed his glasses and set them aside, picking up his fork with anticipation. "Yay! Bacon!"

Yao rolled his eyes. It was amazing how full of energy and immaturity the other man could be. Alfred Jones had body of an adult, but the mind of a child.

"But hamburgers are still the best," Alfred said through a mouthful of hash browns.

"You can't eat hamburgers all the time! You already eat them for lunch AND dinner!" Yao retorted, while bringing a forkful of white rice to his mouth.

"And what about you? You eat rice for every friggin' meal," Alfred shot back. "What's up with you Asians? How can you stand eating white rice for breakfast, doesn't it make you sick? And vegetables-blegh!"

"For your information, white rice and vegetables are lower in fat, sodium and calories than that-" Yao pointed to Alfred's plate of fried goodness. " And provide the right amount of nutrients and energy to get you going through the day. You see, I'm healthy because I keep a balanced diet."

"I'm healthy too!" Alfred replied, bringing an arm up and flexing to prove his point. "I'm all the macho-goodness a man is supposed to be. You on the other hand, you are much too skinny. In fact, if you let your hair loose you would look like a-"

A knife was sent whizzing right by Alfred's ears, nearly nipping his flesh. "Hey, I was just messing with you! Don't take me seriously when I say things like that, Yao!"

"If you don't mean it, than don't say it," the Chinese growled through clenched teethe. They were both aware of how touchy Yao was over the subject of his appearance. Alfred never understood the other man; if he was so insecure, then why didn't he just cut his hair?

"We're starting off on a bad note today, aren't we?"

"And why do you think that is?" came the snappy reply.

"Topic change!" Alfred beamed while shovelling down another forkful of bacon. "Did I tell you I got a promotion to the Head Firefighter of my division?"

Yao looked up, genuinely interested. "No, you didn't tell me. Congratulations, Alfred."

The American grinned through a mouthful of food. "I get a day off for free this week, Yao."

"Don't waste it in front of the television." Yao snorted.

"No, no-of course not. I have something much, MUCH better in mind." Yao was not liking the smile on the man's face at all-it spelt trouble. "Do you remember the deal we discussed about on Sunday?"

"Erm, deal?" Yao could not for the life of him remember. His mind had been so busy being preoccupied with work and daily hospital visits that he had not been given much time to think of anything else. "No, did we ever have a deal?"

"Hey! You're trying to cheat your way out of this!" Alfred pointed an accusing finger at him. "You promised me, man! That's so not cool."

"Tell me what I promised you, and it might jog my memory a bit."

"You said you would go out with me for a day and try something completely new!"

Oh. That deal. Yao wished he didn't remember it at all.

"So I was thinking that on my day off, you could take a break and we could complete the deal." Alfred said, scraping his plate clean. "What do you say?"

"I say no."

"I say yes."

"No."

"Yes. Or else," the American leaned forward with a devious glint in his eyes. "I'll contact my dear friend Yong Soo and ask him if he would like to stay over at our place."

"NO!"

"Exactly. it's your call." Alfred smiled smugly. He could be a real bitch sometimes.

"Fine. I have a day off this Wednesday."

"Yeah! We're gonna have so much fun, Yao, just you wait!"

Yao shook his head in despair. He really could wait.

.

.

* * *

Alfred's smile disappeared as soon as he shut the door to his bedroom gently behind him. He stared at his unmade bed, the covers a crumples heap on the mattress. A pillow was strewn on the floor from the unrest of last night. Memories and dreams came flooding back to Alfred. Every night, they plagued him, but yesterday was a bit worse than usual. No matter how much he screamed, how much he had begged for himself to wake up, he didn't. He couldn't. It was as if God was somehow punishing him for the wrongs he had committed in the past.

Because there was no greater torture than having to relive Arthur leaving him. Over, and over, and over again.

He sat down wearily on the edge of his bed, and it sagged slightly under his weight. He lay his head in his hands and closed his eyes. He heard the yelling, the screaming, the curses, all lashing out at his scabbing wounds, wounds that had not been given the time to heal.

There were 'those' memories.

And then there were _those_ memories.

The dimly lit room, the close proximity of skin against skin. Warmth and heat and sweat, merging together in a blur of ecstasy. Alfred heard his name being uttered in quiet whispers, as his lips traveled down flushed, bare flesh, leaving a trail of burning kisses and marks in their wake. He felt sharp nails digging painfully into his back, where dark spots would appear the next day. His entire body was on fire, his hair slicked to his forehead by perspiration, dripping down his chin and landing on equally damp skin below.

There would be those green eyes, normally sharp and aloof, that would be misted over as they stared up at his own heavily lidded ones. Those thick, dark eyebrows knitted together in pain and pleasure-eyebrows which he had always found adorable and liked to kiss at every moment he had the chance to. And when everything was too hot and full of friction and practically unbearable all around, Alfred F Jones would wake up. He would feel the cool air prickling at his damp skin, and hear his ragged breaths coming unsteadily into his lungs. He would squeeze his eyes shut, his head spinning in a haze, and realize that it had all been a deceitful dream.

.

But it was _those _dreams that led Alfred to his job everyday. If he could not fulfill the burning sensations he longed for as he did before, he could find a replacement in facing the sweltering heat through putting out burning buildings.

Alfred loved his job, perhaps even more than his life, but he would never bring himself to tell others why. All he would say was that he, 'enjoyed being the hero.' Everyone believed that lie.

Alfred pushed on his glasses, straightening his attire before heading out of the change room, with a giant smile plastered onto his face. For his team, he would be their leader. For the world, he would be their hero.

* * *

"Well, tell him that he needs to finish by the dead line, or else it's no deal!" the British man barked into the speaker, his lips an angry scowl. "Why not? I've given him a heads up a month before-that should have been plenty of time-no! No, that will not do. I am not giving him anymore extra time. I've been generous enough."

Francis Bonnefoy looked up from a newspaper, a glass of merlot resting comfortably on his lips and his eyebrows raised. He stared at the aggravated man sitting behind the office desk.

"Yes. Then make it happen. Thank you. You too." Arthur slammed the phone down with more force than was needed, his face red as he glared at the machine.

"Is everything alright?" Francis asked with his accent thick.

"That bloody git, trying to cheat his way out of a deadline. I've given him weeks already! My publishing company will NOT tolerate such poor standards." Arthur burst. He sat back on his armchair and sighed.

"You are being much too cynical, mon cher. Give the poor young fellow a break-it is not easy to be a beginner in entering the publishing business."

"You, you are too soft and care-free," Arthur spat. "Look at you! Just sitting there with your glass of wine and sipping your day away."

"My most recent movie has just been launched. And it was a smash hit." Francis stated while taking another languid sip. "It's about time I had a break anyways. Besides, you know how hard I worked while on set."

"Huh." Arthur snorted. He shuffled papers noisily on his wooden desk, ignoring the pointed stare from Francis. "French men. Utterly useless."

"British men. Uptight-in ways more than one." Francis grinned, watching the other man's face deepen in colour. "Like last night-"

"SH-HUT UP!" Arthur leapt at the man, who ducked skilfully.

"Ah, but I am agile you see," Francis laughed. "throttling me would not be so easy for someone such as yourself."

"Just shut up."

"You don't need to deny what you enjoy. It is perfectly humane to indulge in your pleasures-"

"Bloody wanker." Arthur growled while settling back into his chair. He looked over the daily reports as Francis once again settled down into the newspaper. A moment later, an odd noise left the Frenchman's lips. Arthur looked up.

"What is it now, you fool?"

The newspaper was placed before Arthur. "Take a good look yourself."

"(Controversy with Same-Sex Marriage)" Arthur read aloud, narrowing his eyes at the bolded heading. "Recent studies have shown-hey, what the bloody hell is that!"

On the article's cover, was a familiar sunny face. Large, honey brown eyes peered from over a green, uniformed shoulder of a larger man in front, and Arthur spotted what appeared to be a strange curl of brown hair protruding out from the side of his head.

"What the bloody hell is HE doing on there?" Arthur gabbled, his jaw slack.

"It looks as though he and the policeman were having an affair," Francis replied with a smirk in his tone. "Funny little Italian-I told you he must have been busy as a new employee to your publishing company. He's been having too much fun with his golden boy."

"This is blasphemous! How dare he do such a thing, while working for me under the very same newspaper company that PUBLISHED this!"

"Hmm-a German police officer," Francis mused, having ignored Arthur completely. "What bad taste he has in his choice of men….he doesn't even look cute at all!"

"You're utterly revolting." Arthur growled while ripping the newspaper to shreds. He was halfway through when he noticed the paper shredder that sat next to his right foot. "Blast it all!"

"This is exactly what I mean by uptight, mon cher." Francis shook his head. "Listen, give the poor kid a break. He's probably frightened to death as we speak, hoping you won't see the paper. Besides, it's not like a man's sexuality should affect their ability to write up a decent-"

"My company has a REPUTATION to keep up, Mr. Bonnefoy."

The Frenchman stared at the other before heaving a sigh of resignment. "Oh yes, but of course. I understand that OUR relationship is not reputable in any way."

"Oh, to hell with this." Arthur grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, pushing past Francis with a rough shove.

"Where are you going, my friend?"

"Away from you."

The door slammed shut, leaving Francis standing alone in the middle of the room. He shrugged before settling back down in his chair and picking up his unfinished glass of wine. He had no worries in his mind. Arthur Kirkland was as easy to read as a children's story book, and having been childhood friends since as long as he could remember, Francis only felt more confident that in a matter of six hours, the small british man would come crawling back to him with some witty excuse.

But soon, the glass of wine lay empty in his fingers, and he began to feel boredom creeping in once again. A thought struck him, and he stood from the chair, making his way towards the door. Now that Arthur was gone, he would finally be able to take a peek at the secrets of Arthur's 'sacred' storage room.

The room was really nothing more than a colony of dust mites which had settled over the small wooden shelves nailed to the wall. Francis sneezed as the musty air blew into his face. One of these days, he was going to recycle everything in this room and make it something worth of value.

Francis reached out to touch a small, black box. It was painfully plain, and strangely the only object within the small closet that did not appear to have dust accumulated on its surface. With a grunt, the man pried the box from the shelf and patted the sturdy cover. It was rather light, which sparked his curiosity even more.

Inside, he found white envelopes upon white envelopes. Each were unsealed, seemingly fresh.

Taking a step back, Francis' knee collided with a stool, as he stumbled to regain balance. The tray of letters in his hand fluttered to the ground in a scattered heap. Cursing, he bent over to pick them up, but stopped when the edge of a crammed letter peeked out from underneath an envelope.

'Dear Alfred,' Francis muttered aloud, his eyes skimming down the inky jet letters. They were messy, but he understood them perfectly fine after many forced years of reading whatever fantasy story Arthur's mind and hands had created. His expression darkened with each word, and by the end of the page, he felt a strange knot in his stomach. Hastily, he flipped the piece of paper over. He found exactly what h was looking for-the date that it was written. Relief sank into him as he pieced together the facts. The letter had been written while the two had still been in a relationship. Francis didn't mind-he could take that. No big deal.

Putting the letter away, Francis swallowed the slight guilt settling into his stomach. What had he been thinking? Of course Arthur wouldn't be writing such things anymore. It was true that while they had been dating, Alfred had been all that the british man ever talked about, but that shouldn't have given Francis any reason to feel insecure…no, as long as Francis remained Francis Bonnefoy, he had nothing to worry about. He was a movie star, and actor, every lady's fantasy, and a most desirable character.

Nope. Francis did not need to worry the least bit.

He was about to tuck the last letter back on top, but his fingers hovered above the white. Biting his bottom lip, Francis gingerly lifted the letter and stole a glance around him to make sure no one would be near the room.

The letter started off just as the last had, but this one was extremely different. Throughout the entire letter, Francis felt a bitterness radiating from the inky cursives. By the end, his hands had started shaking again, and he turned the sheet over to its backside. The tiny date at the corner of the page stole his breath away.

The letter had been written yesterday night.

Francis stuffed the box away as it had been found. He turned his back on the room and headed straight out the door, closing it tightly before heading down the hallway.

He was Francis Bonnefoy, brilliant actor, drop dead gorgeous. And most of all, he had been Arthur's best friend since pre-school.

He had nothing to worry about-did he?

* * *

Wang Yao sighed. His head was pounding and ready to burst, and he had already taken the maximum amount of painkillers allowed a day. The entire afternoon had consisted of a less than pleasant encounter with a naïve young couple, arguing over their possessions and money in a divorce. Yao had watched with pursed lips, trying his best to keep a straight face. He had wanted to lash out at them, rip their heads off at being so foolish for wanting each other dead-neither of them knew how it felt to have a loved one who might never come back to you. Neither of them had a damn clue.

"Mr. Wang!"

Yao looked up from his desk, to see his boss smiling down at him. He quickly straightened his posture, trying his best to put on his game face. "Good evening, Mr. Zhao!"

"Ah, overworking yourself again, I see. Really, I don't know where I would be without you."

Yao nodded, his head throbbing under the fluorescent lights. His shift was going to be over in five minutes, and he wished to cut the conversation short, or as short as it could possibly get. Kiku might be awake now, or any other moment, Yao hoped. He wanted to be by his brother's side at every given chance to see him open his eyes. He needed Kiku to know that he would always be there for him.

"I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, but there is a small favour I would like to ask of you."

Yao suppressed a frown. Usually, terms such as 'small favours' never amounted to anything good-they either turned out to be some nuisance errand, or something completely and off-the-top huge.

Today, it turned out to be the latter.

"Mr. Wang, as you see, our Law firm as built up quite a prestige." Mr. Zhao began. Yao nodded, feeling his stomach sinking with each word. "And to maintain our high standards, it is essential that our big-time clients work with those most trustworthy in our company.

"As our top employer, I would like for you to work with a very important individual. He seeks professional help, and I would not be fitting for my position if I did not offer him my best, most enthusiastic worker. My. Wang, how would you like to take up this small duty?"

Yao was not left with much of an option. At times like these, he really wanted to break down into a fit, to cry aloud, and to destroy any object that got in his way. Hell, at times like these, he needed Alfred Fucking Jones to be right in front of him as a punch bag. As annoying as the American bastard was, Yao often found solace in beating the crap out of him. But Alfred was nowhere near, and Yao was still in his office, at work, with an expectant boss awaiting an answer. It was either accept and start burning in hell, or decline and start burning in hell.

"I accept."

"Good, good!" Mr. Zhao clapped his hands on Yao's shoulder with amiable force. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Braginski is here right this very moment! You may get acquainted with him right now!"

"Right now?" Yao gulped. He stole a quick glance at the clock. He had time-but still…

"Unless it's inconvenient for you? Is there somewhere else you need to be?"

Yao could think of plenty. But he simply bit back the grimace and replied as cheerily as he could. "Oh, no, now is fine."

.

The two men stepped out of the office, as the older man led his employee towards the head office. Yao followed obediently, praying that situations would not get much worse than they already were.

"Ah, there he is!"

Yao looked towards the large desk in Mr. Zhao's office. A large man was seated comfortably in a cushioned chair, with his hands folded contentedly in his lap. His hair was an ashy blond, as he turned to look their way.

His eyes were violet. An eerie, piercing violet.

Yao bit back a scream.

"Mr. Braginski, this is my most trusted employer, Mr. Yao Wang."

"Mr. Wang," the thick, Russian accent echoed through the air. "It's very nice to meet you again, da?"

* * *

**:D Like it? Don't like it? **

**(PS. should I be nicer to france? LOL I feel as though I'm being a dick and putting him in a bad spot...**

**No, I should say I put Feliciano and Ludwig in a bad spot! But it was rather amusing writing about them like that, if I don't say so myself. xD)**

**Please review and give me your suggestions! ROCHU is solid, that is for sure, but it is my audience who decide who the england goes with (^L^')**


	3. Chapter 3

Hope you guys enjoy this chapter! I apologize for the lack of Arthur, (counting out his three second cameo) Francis, Ludwig, Feli, and others! I did, however, throw winter in there. The next chapter we might be seeing a bit of Natalya, and her crazy mindset to marry her brother. As far as the story goes right now, there's no 'set' pairing, but rest assured, everything will fall into place. I'm thinking of including Canada in this story, since I'm feeling awfully patriotic. What are your guys' opinions?

Please Review if you'd like me to include something. It might not always go as you want it to, but I am always open to opinions. 

AND I'M SORRY FOR THE LACK OF SPELLCHECK I'm a lazy mofo that way

LOTSA LOVE

-Sunny

* * *

_"It's very nice to meet you again, da?"_

The words echoed cruelly in Yao's ears as he stood rigid by the door. Mr. Zhao, unknowing of the situation, beamed brightly at the large Russian man seated in the chair. "So I see you've met before?"

"Da, we have." came the reply in a cheery, smooth tenor.

Mr. Zhao's eyes landed on Yao, who felt the slightest prick of sweat gathering on his eyebrows. However, one curious, expecting look from his boss, sent the Chinese man tumbling out of his daze. "It's very nice to meet you again, too, Mr. Braginski. I certainly did not expect to see you at a time like this."

The expression on the Russian's face, which had been completely placid, changed immediately into that of childish glee. "So you do remember me, da? I was thinking that perhaps you'd forgotten all about me! In this case, please accept my apologies for the other night."

Yao shifted uncomfortably under Mr. Zhao's intense stare. The temperature in the office seemed to rise dramatically. "It's really quite alright. Please, don't worry yourself." He desperately changed the topic. "So what is it that you need help in?"

"Well, I see everything is going well." Mr Zhao smiled, seemingly oblivious to their conversation-though Yao could detect the slightest bit of suspicion lurking beneath the man's eyes. "I'll leave you two to it, then. I have to organize the meeting for Thursday."

Both men nodded, and with brief goodbyes, the elder man left the room, leaving Yao-alone-with the Russian.

"So..." Yao mumbled, feeling uneasy under an unwavering, violet gaze. The large man simply remained seated and smiling, as if all was well in the world. His large, childish eyes were trained on Yao, broad shoulders relaxed and pale hands folded together comfortably on his lap.

"I'm sorry, da." Ivan braginski repeated, once again. Yao did not reply, only staring back. "I don't mean to be frightening or anything. Please forgive me if I'm making you feel uncomfortable in any way."

"No, no its okay." Yao muttered. His eyes darted to the round clock hanging on the wall. The bold black letters read 9 O clock. "Um, listen-I'm sorry if this inconveniences you, but I must be going soon. My shift has just ended and I made a promise to somebody that I would meet up with them. Perhaps you could give me a brief explanation of your current problem, and we could carry on tomorrow...?"

Ivan continued to stare intently at the asian man. The smile had never once left his lips. After what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. "The problem which I have is rather.. complex." Ivan brought a finger to his chin, finally averting his gaze towards the ceiling. "You see, I need help with getting all the legal documents handled for a divorce."

Yao's expression darkened. Another divorce? What was wrong with the world these days? Had humanity lost its sense of loyalty?

"It's complicated." Something sad dawned on the Russian's face, his eyes suddenly worn. He looked at the ground, his lips in a tight line. "You see, my half sister-Natalia-and I were engaged. It was an arranged marriage from the start, and I've never been for it. But her interest in the whole thing is rather...impassioned."

Yao knew he was treading on thin ice, but he couldn't help the agitation that was beginning to surface in his chest. "Well, do you love her?"

Ivan blinked. He cocked his head to the side. "Pardon?"

"Well, do you love her or not?" Yao repeated. A frown was etched on his face.

"I suppose, of course-as a sister, not a lover." Ivan replied. "I've always been opposing of anything more than family relations, but Natalia really is ever so insistent..."

"Aiyah." Yao bit back a frustrated groan. "It's going to be messy now, with the legal documents and the court. Why couldn't you have refused the marriage in the first place?"

"It's not that simple, you know," Ivan frowned, flashing Yao a hard look. "You've not met her before. She's rather...stubborn in what she believes, and if things do not go her way- they WILL go her way."

"Right."

A heavy silence ensued. Yao could hear the faint ticking of the clock set in the wall. He was running out of time.

"You have to be going now, don't you?"

Yao was snapped from his reveries, staring in surprise at Ivan. "I do, as a matter of fact. I need to meet someone."

"Really, now?" Before Yao could respond, the Russian continued. "It would be most convenient that I drive you to wherever you need to be, since I happen to be leaving now as well. We can continue on our business tomorrow." He rose from the chair, his large figure towering over Yao's.

"It's alright, I can make it on my own." Yao replied. "But thanks for the offer." he added quickly.

"No one has ever declined my offers before." Ivan said. It came out as a statement, his haunting eyes boring deep into Yao's own. The smaller man cleared his throat in discomfort.

"I wouldn't want to burden you, especially since I'm fine getting around on my own. I would only delay you."

"Nonsense!" Ivan exclaimed cheerfully. "You won't cause such a thing, and even if you do I wouldn't mind."

Yao twitched at the last part.

"Though I hope it doesn't bother you that I need to make a quick visit to the hospital first to pick up a few things. I left my bag in the office at the front desk."

Yao's eyes widened. "You work at the hospital?"

"Da." Ivan smiled. "Dr. Braginski, at your service."

Yao blanched. He had no way of escaping the situation now. "Well, it just so happens that I need to go to the hospital too." he lowered his voice to barely a whisper. "To see someone."

"Family?"

Yao hesitated before replying. "My brother."

Ivan stared at Yao with an unwavering gaze. The asian man cleared his throat. "I apologize, but I really do need to be going now."

In an instant the other was inches away fromYao. "I will drive you. It will be convenient, da?"

Yao nodded. He watched as Ivan flashed him a bright smile before brushing past. The two made their way out of the office, briefing farewells to coworkers as they went by. Yao pulled on his jacket as they walked quickly in the lobby, feeling a slight chill of the evening creeping into his bones. The automated doors slid open, swallowing the two men into the night.

"It's a nice night, da? Very warm."

"Warm?" Yao almost laughed, pulling up the collar of his trenchcoat. "It's freezing."

"This little breeze is nothing compared to my homeland." Ivan replied. "It is much colder in Moscow than it is here. America is a very mild country."

"Is that so." Yao mumbled. They stopped before a black Rolls Royce, which appeared spotless under the streetlamp. Ivan unlocked the passenger door, motioning with his hand for Yao to enter, who merely smiled back. He did not like to be treated like a lady, but at that point, Yao was too tired to care. He slid into the leather seat, sinking into it comfortably as he felt the other door open and felt the car rock slightly before Ivan was settled in as well. When the driver made no attempts to speak up, Yao cleared his throat. "My hometown is very hot all year round, and if it is not hot, then it is humid."

"Oh?" Ivan fastened his seatbelt and turned on the ignition. The car hummed to life. "Where is your hometown?"

"Beijing, China." Yao said. He smiled, familiar sights and sounds rushing back into his mind. If he listened hard enough, he could almost hear the ringing of a bicycle bell and the yelling of a street vendor.

"You are very fortunate to have lived in such a nice place." Ivan backed the car out of the parking lot, heading down the main road. "And the food, mmm," Ivan smiled. "I like Chinese food."

"Ah, and what sort of chinese food are we talking about?" Yao asked, a small grin gracing his lips. His hands were no longer tensed at his side, and he was able to relax in the seat. "Are we speaking of the generic oil bathed, fat fried vegetables and meat that you find in restaurants, or a nice, genuine home cooked meal?"

"There is a difference?" Ivan asked. He sounded so surprised, that Yao could not bring himself to feel offended.

"Of course."

Ivan's eyes widened. "Then all those delicious dumplings I've eaten weren't actually genuine?"

"No, no-they were. It's just, you've never had a real Chinese person cook homemade food for you, have you?" Ivan shook his head no. "Aiyah. You haven't lived then."

"But I know no one who can." Ivan sighed, stopping at a red light. "Now you have created a new aspiration for me. I want to sample 'real' Chinese food, cooked by 'real' Chinese hands."

"I guess I could cook you something sometime." Yao said.

"Really? That would be nice," Ivan smiled. "The last time I had someone cook something for me was when I was still living with my older sister, Katyusha. That was years ago, though."

"Oh. That's nice though. You had an older sibling taking care of you."

"Da. It was nice."

The rest of the ride was in comfortable silence. Yao looked out the window, watching as lights blurred in with the night. He noticed a small red, black, and white painted matryoshka doll dangling on the rearview mirror. "Oh, god, that's so cute, aru!" Yao exclaimed, but turned a beet red as he realized what he had just said. "I mean, it's really neat, aru."

"You think so?" Ivan asked. "I made that one a few years ago."

"You made it?" Yao gaped. He leaned forward to give it a closer look.

"Yes. My grandmother was very good at woodcraft. She made all sorts of traditional Russian toys and accessories." Ivan replied. A wistful expression settled into his eyes. "But I was never able to make anything else properly other than these dolls."

"Well, it's amazing." Yao scrutinized the wooden figurine. It was a male solider, dressed in a red army uniform. It reminded Yao of the nutcracker. "Kiku would have loved this. He loves anything miniature."

"Kiku?"

"Oh," Yao looked down, suddenly realizing that he had been more open-too open-to a complete stranger. "Um, he's my brother. The one I will be visiting in the hospital."

"Ah."

The car pulled up to a stop in front of its destination. Both men unbelted themselves from their seats and pushed out of the car. Yao grabbed his briefcase and closed the door. "Thank you for the ride."

"No problem, comrade."

Yao raised an eyebrow. "People don't generally use that term anymore."

"Why not?" Ivan asked. "Comrade stands for companion, or friend, doesn't it? I didn't think things here in America were that different."

"No, well." Yao shrugged. "Nevermind."

When they entered the building, Ivan smiled at the receptionist. "Good evening, Clara."

"Oh, Evening to you, Dr. Braginski." the lady at the desk smiled. "I thought you had the rest of the day off?"

"I do," he replied. "I believe I left my bag back in my office."

"Ah. Well you are dedicated to drive all the way back."

Yao stood by, unsure of what to do. He ought to say goodbye to Braginski and be on his way.

Ivan turned towards the Chinese. "So you will be going now, I guess?"

"Yes. Thank you very much for driving me here." Yao smiled.

"And how will you get home?"

"Well, I always take public transit, so I'm fine." Yao assured. He was aware the lady named Clara was staring at them.

"I might be around here for a bit longer, to sort things out. Perhaps I could drive you home as well?"

Before Yao could make up some random excuse, a stocky, dark haired man came bustling by. He wore a long white overcoat and held a clipboard in his hands. His eyes were black and beady, hovering over Yao for a split second before turning to Ivan. "Ah, how convenient it is that you are here, Mr. Braginski. I am in dire need of assistance right now."

"Dr. Winter." Ivan's face went through instant age, lines that had not been visible before now more prominent than ever. "I was just dropping by to collect a few things."

"But surely you have a little time to spare?" The older asked. To Yao, it sounded more like a statement. He immediately felt a dislike towards the other doctor. Being superior did not give you the right to belittle those with less experience.

"I, guess," Ivan replied, evidently uncomfortable. "But I can not stay for too long.."

"That's fine." Dr. Winter waved Ivan off. "Now, come."

Ivan turned to Yao, his eyes suddenly helpless and tired. "I'm sorry, Yao-we will talk tomorrow, da?"

"Ah, it's fine!" Yao replied, returning an equally forced smile. "Tomorrow then."

He watched as the two doctors disappeared around the corner.

"What was that all about?" Yao muttered to himself.

"That poor Braginski," Clara spoke up, her eyes gazing sympathetically at where Ivan had vanished. "He is such a genuine, pure hearted doctor. He works his rear off and is always such a mood lifter, but Dr. Winter is always picking on him."

"Why?" Yao felt agitation.

"Winter does it to everyone," Clara replied. "Can't be helped."

"How rude."

Yao departed with a brief goodbye, making his way to the hospital room he was so used to seeing.

He was still the same.

Motionless, dead. Lying on the hospital bed with not a ghost of a movement. Yao felt his knees almost give in, his breath shaky. But he quickly collected himself and brushed into the door. He opened his briefcase and drew out a small, paper crane. It was navy this time.

"Kiku, look, isn't this colour nice? It looks like the ocean." Yao said. "You like the ocean, don't you?"

Placing the paper down onto the end table, Yao clasped his fingers around the other's cold, drawn ones. "You'll make it out, believe me. We can make it out, I'll always be here to help you until you wake up. So just, just rest up and get stronger. Then you can open your eyes sooner, okay?" he stroked the dark crown of hair gently. "It's okay, Kiku."

Yao was so tired. So very tired.

He laid his head down on top of the Kiku's hand, and searched for the familiar scent that was his brother's.

* * *

It was not often that one could proudly state that they had saved an apartment full of people from burning to their deaths.

Alfred begged to differ.

He hummed happily as he flopped down onto the couch, his hair damp from a fresh shower. He let his head loll to the side, wetting the cushion of the chair. He was glad Yao was not home yet, or else he would be yelling his head off at him to get his hair dried. Alfred grinned lazily as he heard the Chinese man's words in his head. 'You will catch a cold, aru! Go get your hair dried! It's making everything wet! We're going to get mould, aru!'

Alfred smiled. He wanted to tell Yao about how he had saved the day, and how he had actually been a hero. He had even been interviewed on the news! Yet even as he told himself this, the American found his eyes growing heavier and heavier, until the dark consumed all his thoughts, and he was placed into a deep slumber.

When Yao arrived home, the first thing he noticed were sneakers strewn haphazardly on the floor mat. Groaning, he picked them up and placed them onto the rack. "Alfred, would it kill you to be less of a slob?"

Yao walked to the living room, where the television was still running. He picked up the remote and turned it off, turning around to scold the blond, but stopping as he saw how exhausted the other looked. Alfred's hair was wet, soaking the armrest through. Yao scowled. He lifted the head off, expecting the other to awaken. Alfred continued to snore, as still as a log. Sighing, Yao brushed his fingers through the wet hair, hoping it would help dry it faster. "Aiyah, you're getting too old for this!"

"Mmm." came a moan from Alfred as his eyebrows furrowed slightly from the contact.

"Wake up, numskull."

...

_There was no way this was real._

'_That's it,' Alfred told himself. 'This was all just a bad dream. Just a bad dream.'_

_The thick furls of dark smoke attacked him violently, and he covered his nose with a hand while attempting to swipe away the ash with another. The heat was unbearable, and he felt that his clothes were melting into his flesh. Everything was burning, burning, burning._

_Hadn't he saved everyone in the building earlier? And where was his firefighting gear?_

_What was going on?_

_Then he looked up, only to find wide green eyes staring back at him._

"_Arthur!"_

_Alfred watched in horror as the British man leaned dangerously out of a window frame above, looking down at Alfred and the concrete stairwell. His eyes darted around wildly, but his lips were sealed._

"_Arthur, get down from there! What do you think you're doing!" Alfred screamed, but his voice came out as a rasp, raw from inhaling all the smoke. The ashes burned his throat and his eyes, and Alfred found he was starting to lose sight of the other. "Arthur!"_

"_I can't jump, you fool!" Arthur's voice came out high, panicked. "It's too high up!"_

"_Don't jump then!" The smoke almost blocked out all of Arthur now, as Alfred choked his words out._

"_I can't! There's a bloody fire and no way out!"_

_By now, Arthur was just a wall of thick grey gas, and Alfred was on the ground, his chest heaving. It was burning, and he could barely make sense of anything. If Arthur did jump, there was no way he could possibly catch him. _

"_Alfred!" The cry was so strained that it hurt to listen. "I want you to know, I never-"_

_He did not get to hear the end of it, because soon voices and footfalls grew stronger and stronger. _

"_He's there!"_

"_Someone grab him quick! He's going to die!"_

_Alfred felt hands gripping his arms and legs and head. And being the stupid man he was, he refused to budge even in his stupor state. Where was Arthur? He needed Arthur!_

"_Get him around the middle."_

"_Hold on there Alfred, you hear me?"_

_Someone was slapping his face, and had it been any other day, Alfred would have snapped his eyes open and lunged at the assaulter. Instead, he remained motionless. His chest was hurting too much, and it was not just from inhaling too much carbon dioxide._

_With closed eyes, he sensed the environment around him lighten. The air was fresher, and despite his will to remain silent, he found himself hacking at the clean oxygen. Fingers were running gently through his hair and brushing his forehead. Alfred let out a small, distressed noise. He fought back a sob._

_He was not hero. He could not even save the person dearest to him. _

_He was a failure._

_..._

"Wake up!"

Alfred's eyes fluttered open. The room was a blur, and without his glasses he could barely make out separate objects. "Why am I here!" Alfred's voice asked, panicked. "Where am I?"

"Alfred, you're in our apartment." Yao replied calmly. "You were having a nightmare, twitching like a madman. Relax, aru. It's okay."

Alfred's eyes were wide open now, as he looked up to see his room mates face hovering above his. Hazel eyes regarded him with caution. "Breathe, Alfred. You need to breathe."

And he did. He breathed deep, with his body shaking and his fingers gripping Yao's white shirt mercilessly. All the while, fingers continued to massage his scalp. He felt safe. Unharmed. Untouchable.

"Better, aru?"

Alfred flashed a grateful, relieved smile. "Yeah."

"Good."

"Can I have a kiss to make it better?"

"Don't push your luck."

Alfred grinned while letting his head slump unceremoniously back onto the elder's lap. "Buzz killer."

They sat in an amiable silence, until Yao announced he had to shower and get to bed. Alfred's eyes never left him as he exited the room. Alfred allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness, hoping all the while that his nightmare would not dare repeat itself. But he was less frightened now, because he knew that Yao would be able to wake him if need be.

* * *

"Can you do it?"

Ivan stared at the papers in his hands, his lips a straight line. "I'm not so sure, Dr. Winter-like you said before, I'm not quite experienced enough to perform such complex tasks by myself-"

"Which is why you will have helpers."

"I mean, I don't think it would be appropriate for me to lead the whole operation." Ivan corrected, dropping less than subtle hints that he had no interest whatsoever. "Perhaps someone else could...?"

Winter leaned back on his chair, holding a hand to the bridge of his nose. "Why are you so scared of this entire thing?"

"I'm not scared," Ivan replied. "I just do not feel capable of handling such a complicated task."

"You should not be working here, since you aren't prepared." Winter jeered. "Perhaps I was wrong in keeping you in your position for so long. Clearly, you aren't deserving of the title of the, Head Surgeon Doctor Braginski."

"Dr. Winter," Ivan began, trying to rationalize. "I can make up for this by doing more work on other things, just-"

"I understand. It can wait." Winter waved him off. "Give or take a couple of years, you'll have enough balls for this. You'll look back on this and know how much of an idiot you were for refusing."

Ivan's hands were balled tightly as he forced himself to stare at the opposite wall. He tried to channel out the cruel, biting words of his boss. He thought of his cat at home, and how it was probably waiting for him by the doormat. He thought of the three sunflowers he had planted in a pot on the windowsill. One of them had begun to sprout, while the others had not come out yet. How long would it take for-

"Were you listening, Ivan Braginski?"

Ivan swallowed silently. "Yes, Dr. Winter."

"Get out of my office. You have night shift tomorrow. Don't forget." Or else.

"Yes, I won't. Goodnight, sir."

Ivan backed out as calmly as he could, and it wasn't until he was sure he was completely out of hearing range, did he let out a feral snarl. "I'll get you, Winter. One of these days, I'll get you." A twisted smirk played on his lips. "You just wait your turn, now."

* * *

Meanwhile, in Soviet Russia...

Reviews plz? 

Or I'll send Belarus after you tonight. kolz.


End file.
